Nights of Dreams and Lies
by TheRomericaFoundation
Summary: Lovino's mornings are perfect with Alfred, until they're not anymore.


Lovino wakes with a smile, the room filled with light filtering through the curtains as he lies in bed, a strong, warm arm wrapped around his waist as he's held back against his lover. A shudder runs through his body as Alfred lets out a content sigh against his neck, and Lovino arches his back, grinding softly against Alfred.

He's responded with another arm wrapping around him, hands roaming over his chest and stomach, down to his thighs and in between, rubbed. He moans deep and hard, head tilted back as lips assault the side of his neck. Lovino never tires of waking like this. Alfred's warm and hard against his back and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Alfred shifts from behind him and before he knows it, Lovino's lying on his back, staring up into sky blue eyes. He pushes himself up, connecting his lips with Alfred's, who eagerly returns the kiss, working his way between Lovino's legs. Lovino complies easily enough, legs wrapping around Alfred, ankles locking around the small of his back, pulling him down to grind their almost barren hips together.

Lovino's hard enough that it almost hurts, but he's going to ignore the feeling for now because he loves wen Alfred's soft with him like this. Usually when he's woken up it's with bruising kisses and erratic movements, and he's pounded hard enough to the point in which he can't even speak words to Alfred. He can't tell him what he wants, that he wants Alfred to hit him there. Again. Harder, faster. Or to bite him and suckle on his neck, leave a dark mark, show everyone who he belongs to. Lovino's used to being woken up and fucked senseless, left with bruises around his hips, aches in his legs from being in different positions, marks on the back of his knees because it's his weak spot.

It's not often that Alfred's so soft with him. It's not that Lovino doesn't enjoy the rough handling, because he… _thoroughly_ enjoys it indeed. But having something that's rare in itself is even more pleasing. And it's a wonderful feeling to have Alfred's hands roam carefully over his chest, fingers dipping against his pelvis, fingers soft and light as they assault his chest. Lips pressed against his softly, tongue carefully drawing out what Alfred is already familiar with. Their noses bump together and Lovino doesn't have to worry about messing up his lover's glasses, which sit on the night stand.

Alfred's hands work their way down his body, around thighs and underneath them to grope and fondle his ass, give it a squeeze and work it in his hands. Lovino moans into his mouth, hips rotating up into Alfred's groin and back down into his lovely hands. One hand works its way up and underneath his knee, forcing Lovino to unlock his ankles and pushing back until his knee is almost pressed against the bed. Alfred shifts down and leaves little bites and kisses from Lovino's weak spot down to the legs of his boxers and he smiles slyly at him, knowing that Lovino's ready to be slowly ravaged by him.

The boxers are gone, thrown to the side with the rest of their clothes and Alfred pauses as he hovers over his lover, smiling down at him with such adoration and love that Lovino's not sure what to do. He's never really gotten used to the way that Alfred looks at him like that, like he's a work of art that's priceless and can't ever be replaced. And that's what he is to Alfred, but so much more.

Warmth spreads through Lovino, and he's pretty sure it's because he can feel the love radiating off of Alfred like a fire. It's dangerous and warm, beautiful and luscious, painful and reassuring all the same. Alfred settles above him, just staring at him with the happiest look that Lovino's ever seen in the world. He just feels so warm and fuzzy inside that it's unbelievable.

But then of course it is.

Lovino's eyes snap open and he's staring at the dark ceiling of his apartment. He drags his head to the side and see's the florescent light on his alarm clock telling him that it's three o'clock in the morning. He looks back up at the ceiling before turning his head the other way, his heart heavy.

He swallows thickly; because of course the other side of the bed is empty. It's always been empty. Just like how Lovino is. How he feels. He still feels his nonexistent lover's hands roaming about his body, whispers of "I love you" and promises to be taken care of echoing in his mind.

He sits up, his blanket dropping down to pool around his waist. His clothes are on the floor, and Lovino suddenly realizes how cold it is. His mind pictures Alfred smiling over at him from his side of the bed, pulling him down to lie next to him, arms wrapping around him to keep him warm. Lovino's heart aches and a painful ball of grief and loneliness settle in his stomach.

It hurts and he settles against the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest and tears stream down his face as he thinks about how he's never had a lover like the one in his dreams. He's never known someone to look at him with such fondness and love and adoration that warmth spreads through his body and covers him with a blanket. He's never known someone to love him so roughly and gently at the same time, who's prioritized him first before anything else.

All Lovino's ever known is walking down the street as he sees everyone else hand in hand, happily in love. All he's ever known is being the outcast in his family, his grandfather's disapproval of his sexuality, his brother's engagement and acceptance to a great life. All he's ever known is emptiness and disapproval of himself.

All Lovino's ever known is that the lover of his dreams is just that. A dream.

And he's left to be empty.


End file.
